“I think, sir, you've hit upon a very practical application here. It seems to me—”
“Sabatino!” Calabus shouted. “You will not forget to tell Squeen William I want sparrow pie tonight. And no feet this time. I find a single foot, I'll thrash the bastard to death … !”
ALL THE WAY UP FROM THE CELLAR, ALL THE WAY up to their room, Letitia didn't speak, wouldn't look at him, wouldn't say a word. It seemed to Finn that she was scarcely there, that the real Letitia was hidden somewhere within a shell, a shell that looked much like the real Letitia Louise. And when they were finally there, safe within the room, safe as one could be with a door whose knob had vanished years before, Letitia climbed in bed, turned away and pulled a dusty sheet about her head.
“Now I know you're upset,” Finn said, sitting on the edge of a chair, “and I know you're angry with me. But hiding under there won't solve a thing, Letitia, I'm sure you know that.”
“Yes, I'm very upset,” she said beneath the covers, “and I'm very angry with you. You're wrong about the last. Hiding under here solves everything for me. Whatever happens next, I don't intend to see.”
“She's got a point,” said Julia Jessica Slagg. “It always works for me. I simply make a little click inside, and it all goes away.”
“Nobody asked for your help. Nobody needs your advice. Be very quiet, or I'll give you to that old man who's dying to take you apart.”
Julia knew this wasn't so, that he'd never do that. Still, she was good at reading vocal tones and what they might imply, so she rattled off in a corner and shut her ruby eyes.
“We have to talk,” Finn said. “If you feel better under there, then stay. I can hear you well enough, and you can hear me.”
Finn waited for some reply. When nothing came, he assumed she agreed and went on.
“From the moment we arrived in this place, I felt, and I'm sure you'll agree, that everyone here is addled, crackers, one hand short of a clock. Everything that's happened since has enhanced my feelings on this. I won't go over the events, you know them as well as I. But this, this whatever-it-is in the cellar, this monstrous machine, this is the most frightening thing of all …”
These last words, it seemed, had a great effect on Letitia Louise. She tossed the sheet aside, sat up at once, and looked thoughtfully at Finn.
“You really felt it then, is that what you're telling me now? I thought—what I thought, from your total disregard, was you didn't even know what was happening there. You surely didn't act as if you did.”
“I'm sorry, my dear. I never meant to be uncaring, but I felt I ought to see just how deranged these people are. It's truly worse than I thought. Sabatino's mean of spirit and possibly daft, but the old man's totally deranged.”
Finn shook his head. “He believes that pile of rubbish, that junkyard down there, is really retching up mail from the future. I can't imagine what he—”
“Oh, Finn …” Letitia covered her face with both hands. When she looked up again, all signs of anger or displeasure were gone. Now her features held no emotion at all.
“You say you felt it, but I'm not sure you did. Not the way I did, dear. There's something really awful, something terrible, down there. If I ever had to face it again, I fear my heart would simply stop.”
“Letitia …” Finn left his chair and sat beside her on the bed. He touched her hand and found it limp and cold.
“I did feel something, I assure you of that. I touched the thing, and nearly got sick on the spot. But it's nothing to fear, it's some kind of natural force, something like, what—? Like lightning struck and you were close to the tree.”
“No. It's not like that at all.” Letitia jerked her hand away, but her eyes impaled Finn. Locked in a daze, locked in a stare, yet somewhere else, somewhere far away.
“You can believe that awful thing's real or it's not. It doesn't matter, Finn. But it's more than a machine, I'll tell you that. Magic's at work down there … No, now don't interrupt, just listen to me. When I'm done, you can argue with me then.
“This is what you have to do. And don't tell me you won't or you can't, or anything of the sort. You must leave, you must go back to town. Find another Mycer there, find her and tell her my name. Tell her my mother's name, which was Liliana, of the Phileas Clan. Tell her that, and she'll know you're all right. Newlies don't pass out names like humans do, we know better than that.
“And it must be a she. Never mind why. I didn't see any Mycers in town, but I'm certain someone's there, I can feel it, Finn. When you find them, tell them we have to have a seer. Tell them it has to be a Rubinella, First Order. Don't forget. It won't do any good if she's any less than that.”
She reached out then and squeezed his hand. “Now you're going to say you wouldn't leave me on a bet. That this is all nonsense in my head. You will go though, because you have to, Finn. Julia won't let them harm me, and I doubt they'll even try. They'll let you go, because they know you'll come back to me.
“Can you do this? You have to, love. I can't explain why, because I don't really know. But I know what's down there is wrong, and we have to do something, or I don't think we'll ever get out of here alive.”
Finn stared at her a moment before he could even find his voice.
“Skillets and Pans,” he said, feeling a chill lift the hairs on his neck. “I don't know what to say. I can't imagine where you're getting all this. It's not like you at all.”
“It is, though. It's just not a part of me you know, and I don't have time to tell you now. You'll do it though, won't you? You'll trust me, Finn, because we do have a great love for each other, and I'm sorry we had a small fight. I hate doing that, even if they're small, because I care a great deal about you.”
Finn took a breath. “I don't like it, but I will, though I don't know what it's all about. But you do, it seems. That will have to be enough for me now.”
Letitia smiled, the smile that always reassured him everything was right, though the rest of the world was completely unstable, totally out of whack. Which, quite clearly, it most surely was now …
FINN WAS SURPRISED TO DISCOVER HOW CLOSE THE Nuccis' house was to the village and the sea. The flight from town the day before had seemed to take forever, hampered as it was by madmen with sharp pointy sticks. Now, that same dusty road had turned to mud from the night's fierce rain. The ruts worn by countless carts and wagons were troughs of dirty water reflecting a leaden sky.
Even before he reached the rise that revealed the narrow streets and cramped houses down below, the ghastly collection of odors assured him the town was still there. Still grim and uninviting, a pile, a dump, an unlovely heap of peeling wood and sooty stone. Convenient, Finn thought, for the blind or the sighted as well. Either could find the place with scarcely any effort at all.
It felt good to be free, out in the open, if somewhat tainted, air. Free for a while from the mean in spirit and the mentally deranged, free from that house, free from the old man's infernal machine.
Relieved, but still concerned that he'd left Letitia behind. She would come to no harm, he was sure. He wouldn't have gone if he'd had the slightest doubt.
Still, perhaps he'd been quick to agree, telling himself it was, after all, her idea, that he really didn't want to disappoint her again. He hoped she hadn't guessed, hadn't read it in his eyes, hadn't seen that he felt it was a useless thing to do, hunting for a seer, that it made no sense to him at all. She would be in a fury if she did.
He shook these thoughts aside, for he needed all his wits about him here. None of the locals he passed wore yellow hats, but that didn't mean this fellow or that hadn't tried to do him in the day before.
At the very edge of town, he turned to the right and headed for the docks, quickening his pace as a tangle of spars and masts appeared. He was certain none belonged to the Madeline Rose. Sabatino lied nearly all the time, but he'd happily told the truth about that. Three vessels were there, but Captain Magreet was gone.
One of the ships was loa
ded with kelp, stank to high heaven, and wouldn't be leaving for a week. Another was crewed by pug-faced Bowsers, who howled and snapped their teeth and threw fruit at him as he passed. The third, and largest, of the vessels had recently burned and settled to the bottom. Only charred and brittle masts still rose above the sea.
“What happened, might I ask?” Finn addressed an old man who was fishing off the quay. “I recall this ship wasn't sunk yesterday.”
“Wasn't,” the man said without looking up.
“I assume, then, it suffered an accident.”
“You'd be wrong if you did. Hooters got it. Held their midnight service right here. Burned the thing down to the keel.”
“Oh,” Finn said, and didn't say a thing after that.
The man looked up, studying Finn with a fierce and curious eye. “I've seen you somewhere. What's your spiritual affiliation, friend?”
“Got to run, hope you land a big one,” Finn said, and quickly hurried away.
“Why should I care if you stroll in town or not? You'll be back, you've no place to go.”
Sabatino's words and his pompous, arrogant stance had annoyed Finn no end, but he'd held his temper at bay.
“I'm not asking your leave. I'm simply telling you I'm going. To get fresh clothing for Letitia, though it's none of your concern what I do. Clothing, and—no offense, unless you care to take it so—some sort of decent food. Your meals are atrocious here. I don't know how you stand it. You've been abroad, I know. I can't believe you never dined on a dish that wasn't gray. Something that looked as if it might run away.”
“Ah, you're fooling no one, craftsman, certainly not me.” Sabatino gave him a bawdy wink. “You're going because you think you'll find some clever way out of our lovely town. You won't, you know. But you're welcome to give it a feeble try.”
“Go anywhere near her—just glance in her direction while I'm gone—and you'll answer to me.”
“You strike terror in my heart.”
“I mean it, Sabatino.”
“Of course you do. Have a marvelous time.”
Finn was near certain everyone in town knew who he was. Any other place, and he'd dismiss the thought at once. Here, it was no aberration of the mind. Men, women, babes in arms—no one turned his way. Still, when each was well past, he could feel their eyes poking at his back.
The chair he'd left in the street was gone. Most likely, the Master of Chairs had hauled it back inside. Who'd want to steal the thing? He thought about going in to check, but only for a second and a half.
The sign above the tavern read TAVERN. A sound and frugal name, Finn decided, no one putting on airs. One mug of ale before he went about his tasks. One cool mug couldn't take a lot of time.
He climbed three wooden steps and entered the dimly lit room. A bar made of planks was on the left, tables on the right. Feeble oil lamps and the smell of sour ale. At once, Finn felt somewhat at ease. If everything else in this land was awry, at least taverns smelled the same.
A man the size of a storm was suddenly in his way. He had no neck and no brow, and his body was so immense that his arms likely never touched his sides.
“Your pardon,” Finn said, “I'd like to get by.”
“What do you want,” the man said, in a voice surprisingly shrill, “What you doin' here?”
“What I'd like to do is drink an ale. Would that be all right with you?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. It's not all right with me.”
“Would you care to tell me why?”
“It's not all right because it's not. Why you askin' me something like that?”
“I don't know, it just seemed the thing to do.”
“Those people.” He glanced past a massive shoulder. “Those people drink in here.”
“Yes, I see they do.”
“They drink here. Not somebody else.”
“This is a club, then. It's not a public bar?”
“Who told you that?” It was clear all this was hurting the fellow's head. “You see the sign, you see what it says outside?”
“I surely did.”
“What does it say?”
“TAVERN, I believe.”
“Tavern. That's what it is.”
“Fine. I'd like an ale, please. A dark if you have it, if not I'll take a red.”
The man was growing puffy about the eyes. Behind him, Finn could see faces, pale little moons floating in the dark.
“They drink here. Other people don't. These are the folks that drink here.”
“And where,” Finn wanted to know, “do the people who don't drink here go?”
“Somewhere else.”
“And the people, the ones that drink somewhere else. They don't ever drink here. The ones that drink here, I'll bet they never drink anywhere else.”
“I think I know you. You're the one doesn't come from here.”
“I'm taking up your time, and I'm not really thirsty anymore. Let me ask you this. You know where I can find some Mycer folk in town? I'm trying to find a Rubinella; that's who I'm looking for.”
The man's eyes grew wide. As wide as his butter cheeks would allow, as wide as little birdy eyes can go.
“You turn around and get out of here, you got a second and a half. I know who you are, all right. You been—you been staying over—eatin' and sleepin' overnight. Why you want to come to our town? Why'nt you stay where you belong?”
The big man could scarcely get the words out. He made no effort to hide his disgust. He looked at Finn as if he'd swallowed a bug. Now, some of the moon faces were looking his way.
“I'm not entirely familiar with your ways,” Finn said. “If I've said something to offend—”
The man stabbed a finger at his chest. “You say somethin' dirty to me, I'll knock you flat.”
“Thank you for your time,” Finn said, “you've got a nice place here …”
A NSWERS, IT SEEMED, DID NOT COME EASY IN THIS queer, uncommon land—not as autumn leaves that fall in plenty from the tree, but tardy and slow like the lazy sap of spring. And, worse still, answers and questions looked strangely alike, the same as two dust balls, the same as two peas:
As far as Finn could tell, nearly everyone here was a Hatter or a Hooter. Hatters ruled the day, and Hooters ruled the night.
Hatters carried sharp pointy sticks.
Hooters liked to burn things down.
Torture and murder lead to spiritual growth.
There were inter-faith rules to the game.
The food was awful and the people smelled bad.
Bad manners were the rule, hospitality was a sin.
Questions had no answers, and answers were questionable at best.
Still, Finn felt he had gained real insight into the ways of this land. Everyone lived according to his creed, and everyone was totally mad.
Leaving the tavern called TAVERN, Finn passed a similar place called BAR. Reason said there was no use stopping there, so he made his way toward the broad market square.
The clouds had blown away and the sun had appeared to warm the dreary day. The square was crowded with booths, stands, and stalls of every sort. Stalls made of blankets on a pole. Stalls that sold melons, magic and simple card tricks. Big shops, little shops, shops no more than a stool or a bench. Each one squeezed, packed against the next. Finn could scarcely tell where one left off and another one began.
Working his way through the drab and odorous crowd, he found it hard to forget he was at the very site where Fate had slapped him silly and shown him what for. That too familiar tingle at the back of his neck was present there again.
After a bit of searching, he found the stall where he'd bought some tin scraps and a roll of silver wire. With a sigh of relief, he saw the same merchant was there.
“Good day,” Finn said, offering a smile to a fellow he'd met before, “it's quite nice to see you again.”
“I don't do returns,” the man said, wary, as ever, of a pleasant attitude.
“You bought it, it's yours, don't come whining back here.”
“I'm very satisfied with my wares,” Finn said. “I have a question, is all.”
“I can sell you brass, bronze, nickel, or lead, copper, iron or tin. I can get you gold, I can get you gilt. The gilt's so good you could fool eight people out of ten.”
“My question's not about that.”
“Then you're in the wrong stall, friend.”
The merchant, a wiry man with a buzzard's nose, spat on the ground close to Finn's boot. Finn noticed he had a tattoo of a fish with a woman's head and breasts, ranging from the bald pate of his head to the base of his scrawny neck. He wondered how he'd possibly overlooked this striking image before.
“I'm willing to pay,” Finn said, reaching in his jacket and showing the man a silver coin. “This is yours if you tell me what I want to know.”
“Be still my beatin' heart. How can I resist such a fortune as that?”
“Right. Two silver pieces, then.”
“Three. And they'd better be silver 'stead of plate of some sort. This is what I do all day, friend.”
“I'm looking for Mycer folk. I haven't seen any, but I'm certain they're around. One Rubinella, I believe. If you could just—”
Finn stopped at once. The merchant, a man of a light copper shade, went suddenly pale. As pale, in truth, as the man at the tavern, who would make three or four of the fellow here.
“Are you daft,” he said, his gaze shifting wildly about the marketplace, “are you possessed, brother, soft in the head, looking for a noose? Would you care to be cut into ribbons, roasted on a spit? Is there some kind of pain that you desire?”
“None of that at all,” Finn said, “Why do you ask?”
“Gata-watta-bool,” the man muttered, or words to that effect. His fingers clutched an amulet dangling from a chain about his neck. A quarter-moon, Finn noted, carved from adder stone, with a single opal eye.
The Prophecy Machine (Investments) Page 14
